Ivory and Bone (Ivory and Bone #1) - Julie Eshbaugh Page 0,3
Not because they are so dangerously immense, or because they are so difficult to bring down. Each kind of prey presents its own difficulties and dangers. No, I hate to hunt mammoths because their intelligence is impossible to ignore. They have more than a sense of fear; they have an understanding of death. They don’t run just because they are being chased; they run to avoid being killed.
They know that I am trying to kill them.
I didn’t always feel this way. Just a year ago, when I was Pek’s age, I begged our father before every hunt to let me take the lead. Finally, he let me try. I went ahead of the rest of the hunting party. I gave the command when it was time to swarm the herd. And I threw the first strike that landed deep in the animal’s side.
It was a clean strike, and as the mammoth ran, blood poured from his wound, leaving a bright red trail in the frost under our feet. That moment is forever fixed in my mind—as the blood dripped down, I believed I could feel the energy running out of the animal and flowing into me. I felt invincible. Pek landed a strike in the animal’s throat, just below his jaw. That weakened him quickly. Blood flowed from both wounds as he staggered and fell to four knees. I ran up alongside him, ready to celebrate the success of the kill.
But when I came up beside the wounded mammoth, he wasn’t ready to give in, wasn’t ready to let go of the Spirit that dwelled within him. He struggled to raise himself once more, planting his left front foot and trying to stand.
The effort took the last of his strength. His huge frame shuddered, and he dropped heavily to the ground, his head falling right at my feet.
I couldn’t avoid looking into the mammoth’s huge dark eye. Though his head lay half in snow and half in mud, he stared right into me. The dark iris was like a hole I’d fallen into. There was knowledge in that eye. Knowledge that he was about to die and that I was the one who had caused it. But there was no condemnation. Only defeat.
A sudden gust of wind comes down hard from the north, shoving me out of my memories and back to the present. The same gust hits you in the face and you grimace. It was warm lying in the grass—almost warm enough to encourage a honeybee to fly—but standing in the raw wind makes the day feel cold. My mother clears her throat. I realize that no one’s been introduced, and we’ve been standing staring at each other for a moment too long. I break the awkward silence by falling back on custom—I step forward and nod to the man in your group.
“I’m called Kol,” I say. “I am the oldest son of Arem and Mala.”
The man nods in reply, the irresistible current of custom pulling us along. “My name is Chev. I am High Elder of the Olen clan. This is my sister Seeri.” He motions to the first girl, and I smile but I doubt she notices. Her eyes are fixed on Pek. “And my sister Mya,” he says, motioning to you.
Unlike Seeri, you meet my gaze. Your eyes narrow and I hope this is a response to the wind in your face, but somehow I don’t think it is.
“This is our younger son, Pek,” my mother says, her eyes sliding to Seeri’s face as she steps forward to pat Pek on one of his huge shoulders, ensuring everyone notices Pek was built to hunt. She’s seen the connection between Seeri and my brother and she intends to encourage it. “You are lucky to have him with you today. He’s gifted with a spear, this boy. He’s—”
My father clears his throat. Mother’s eyes shift to me and I know what she had almost said—He’s the best hunter in the clan. It’s true, but since I’m the oldest, it’s probably not something my father wants her to say in front of guests. Not that it would matter. If you’re going to hunt with us, you’re going to find out anyway.
My father raises his eyes, judging the progress of the sun. “We should start on our way. The Divine has brought us strong hunting partners, and I suspect she may be sending more good fortune our way. If I am right, we will have a kill before the